


His Ultimate Lost Thing

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Adultery, Babies, Canon Up To Order of the Phoenix, Divorce, F/M, More Death Eater Redemption, Nah!, Older Man/Younger Woman, Redemption, Soul Bond, Soul Magic, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vaginal Sex, War, animagi, dub-con, half blood prince, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Antonin Dolohov was a child once. Something many people can happily forget. A child that grew up when the Muggle KGBs were hunting them down to extract what it was that made them so powerful, intending on stealing so that they could win against the Americans.His mother sent him over to live with strange relatives in the UK. The Flints. He was at school when Marcus was just a baby, but by the time he did, he had made friends with Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and at school his best friend was Thorfinn Rowle.Then, 31 years later, he accidentally gives Hermione Granger the soul scar used by all male Dolohov's everywhere to prove how strong the witch is...The thing is, this now alters things not only for Severus but Dolohov's deflection causes dissention amongst the ranks and soon others begin to seek protection from members of the order - in turn, that is not all they seek...





	His Ultimate Lost Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VinoAmore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinoAmore/gifts).



> This is going to be a shortish story, I hope, and a gift for Vino Amore
> 
> Vino: This is a whole story gifted to you, for sending me a box full of goodies which helped me feel valid at a time when I am drifting. Every time I use the brushes, or the eyeshadow pallette, I think it was from you and you did so to prove I am beautiful and worth living for... Thank you for one of the most amazing packages I have ever opened in my whole damn life.
> 
> #LOVEFEST2018

 

** His Ultimate Lost Thing **

** Moscow 1964 **

Life was so much easier when he was at home.  A carefree boy scampering amongst the perpetually warm charmed gardens of his family seat, that was part of his childish cocoon. Katya, his mother, tried to protect him as best she could. Especially after the KGB had found out his father held a strange power, arrested him, then was sent to a laboratory for ‘scientific observation’.  Nothing observational about it, he found out later, his father was killed slowly.  His life slipping away as each new syringe, swab, electric shock and other such travesties were forced upon him. The only comfort he had ever known was his mother’s silvery singing voice, chanting stories of bravery amongst Wizard-kind, whilst softly using a silver comb encrusted with the Dolohov coloured jewels, on his hair. 

“ _Pchelka_ ,” his mother cooed, “your father is going through some incomprehensible things. He got caught, do not allow yourself to _ever_ get caught.”

“Yes mama,” he sighed.

“Remember, darling, you are a Dolohov, you are to become something great.”

“I-I-don’t understand,” he said.

Katya kissed the top of her son’s head, massaging his little shoulders whilst steeling herself to break the news she had received earlier in the day through a smuggled letter from a friend in England.

“Little darling,” the quiver in her lip was barely restrained but the tremor in her voice gave away the sadness that was about to befall her tiny son. “Antonin, you have to promise me to be brave.” 

“Why?” he said turning his head around and tilted up, so he could look into his mother’s stunningly beautiful tawny eyes. “What is wrong mama?” he lifted his hand to caress his mother’s arm – stroking up and down to try and calm her down. It worked, a little. “Please, mama, you’re frightening me.” 

Katya steeled herself as she took in a deep breath to slow down the beating of her heart, the vibrations of which thrummed through his ears. He watched his mother pass a hand across her brow, her face rested in her fingers, a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. 

“Dear little one,” she said softly, reassuring the child that she was fine. “So, there is…is something I wish to explain first,” she moved around to the side of the seat that her son was sitting in and crouched down, so she was now gazing up at him and he down on her. It was the poise of bad news adopted by parents everywhere when they were hoping to keep the child calm. “You know those people who are doing awful things to your father?”

“They’re bad people.”

“Yes, darling, they are extremely bad people. People who are trying to steal our gifts because they are jealous of our power,” Katya held tight to his hand. “They are Muggles and they wish to have what we do. Because of their jealousies and insecurities, your father is being bruised, burned and tortured. It is _you_ who can carry on the family name. I cannot protect you whilst this Muggle Cold War is going on. I do not wish for you to be hurt – so,” she lowered her eyes, her light brown curls framed her face hiding her sorrow from her only child. “So, I have got into contact with a distant relative in the UK. You have a chance in the UK. They no longer care about wizards and witches being amongst them. No one has been hanged for witchcraft there for over 20 years. You will be safe there.” 

“Who will I be staying with mama?”

“Maud Flint – she is a bit older than you and will marry soon. You will be with them, they will take you in hand, my _Pchelka_.”

“Do not worry, mama, I shall be brave,” he said earnestly. His dark eyes glistening with tears. His long lashes sodden with them. “I shall be your brave wizard.” 

“I know you will, Antonin, my dear boy – please, sweetheart, do what the Flints do, lead by example and study hard and well.” 

The little boy nodded along with his mother’s wishes as they were listed. He turned in his seat, twisting his arm out of Katya’s hold. “I love you mama.” 

“I adore you, _Pchelka_ ,” his mother whispered pressing a hard kiss to her son’s temple. “One more word of advice: the right witch is there for you, my boy, the one who will feel like you were lost before. This witch, this one will be your witch. Take her, my son, when you find her – brand her, as your father branded me.” 

Antonin knew the scar his mother held, a long purple line that seemed to dissect her body in half. The spell used by the Dolohov’s for generations to determine a witch strong enough to survive the curse. The spell that carried on the family name and produced strong, powerful wizards.

The actual origins were lost in the midst of time, but the fact remained: the witch that survived the curse was the one for Antonin to marry. Many ancient blood feuds were settled in this manner.

* * *

 

The morning after Antonin watched all his possessions fit inside the family trunk, packed away by a little elf: “In England I am to be called Antonin,” the boy told the elf kindly. “I do swear the oath of loyalty that I shall never lay hand or ask you to injure yourself, we are to be friends. I wish to know your name.”

“The name is Biba, sir.” 

“Biba – I am Antonin and I will keep care of you. I promise.” 

“Yes, my Master,” Biba bowed low. “How can Biba please sir?” 

“I need to get to England to see family. I wish for you to not follow me directly. I do have a purpose for you here. Biba, you are to keep at my mama’s side. I will set you to protect her at all costs.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Once the elf had gone, he loaded his belongings into the carriage, helping the other elves and humans to do so. His mother was held back by a wizard who was nodding at Dolohov, his kind face held glints of madness: “Do not worry, little man, I will make sure good care is taken of your mother.” They hugged as if Katya was hugging his father, instead she was waving him off with her lover; and a sour faced boy with such an intense hatred stood by his father who was loading a similar carriage. The unpleasant boy had his eyebrows knitted together uniting his features of smug arrogance and proud disgust. 

“Who are you?” Antonin asked the child. 

The boy responded with nothing more than glowering eyebrows. He was a good three years younger than Antonin, sat in a set of light purple robes that calmed down his dark demeanour, he was twisting long grasses together methodically testing their strength, the boy sullenly sat at the bottom of the sweeping steps that would lead him back to the house. 

“Igor,” the child responded without glancing up to look at Antonin, “have a great time in the silly UK where they have horrible views of what being a Wizard is. I am off to Bulgaria, a _proper_ country.” 

Antonin left the sour boy as he a spider scuttled towards the four-year-old, and instead of cupping it in his hands like Antonin had done many times to other arachnids, he watched Igor stamp ruthlessly on the unfortunate creature. Viciously, Igor began grinding the remains into the stone of the pathway.

“Well, guess I will see you then.”

Igor stood up, examined the remains of the insect underfoot, shrugged his shoulders turned on his heel and ran back up the stairs. That was Antonin’s goodbye. He rather wondered if he was being foisted on the Flints, whom he’d not heard of, so his mother could begin her life with the Karkaroff duo. He did not like the situations, but he passionately hated mother Russia. The men hurting his father will pay! 

 **AZKABAN:**  July 1995

Now, Dolohov knew what it was like to be trapped. Igor Karkaroff had died but not before he received a letter from his solicitor explaining that his father; Alexei Karkaroff who only turned out not to be his mother's lover but brother, thus making him and Igor cousins. Antonin still despised the wizard even if he was deceased. His estranged uncle, who was the only family Antonin had left, had written quite sternly that it was up to HIM now to uphold both the Karkaroff and Dolohov blood-lines. Antonin must do so soon, marry a suitable witch or the family houses will crumble into dust. 

“Ha!” he snorted. “I am in a cell in Azkaban. It is too late for me, mama.”

How he got caught a second time he’d never know – but now there were more out than in, so he knew he was not going to be trapped by a long-shot. He’d never meant to use the Dolohov curse on her. She was still a child, just that in the heat of battle, his brain came up with the best spell to pull on the aggravatingly clever mudblood. A witch that looked too much like his mother for his comfort. Perhaps it _was_ Katya’s advice that he followed on a subconscious level, however for it to react like that on her only meant he’d damned himself and the girl too, hell he did not even know her name. 

Whatever the Psychobabble behind a seemingly impulsive decision – she made it. The stubborn mudblood had the _audacity_ to become a Dolohov bride. He paced the cell, a trapped bear in a cage with only the power to yell and scream as he clutched tightly onto the bars. 

“No need to act like an animal,” a familiar voice said between Antonin feral growls, swinging dark almost dread-locked hair due to prison not allowing him a hairbrush in case he knew wandless transfiguration, which he did but there was no way out. “Then again, the way you growl you could be a feral dog.” 

“Hello?” Antonin's voice was hoarse from a combination of things, “I need water to talk.”

“Sure,” the voice sneered coldly. 

“I know you by your voice now let me see your face – I need to see who is quenching my thirst in this dark dungeon hole!” Antonin reeled back at the sight of the sallow skin, hooked nose and curtains of greasy black hair meant this could only be one person. “Snape!” he gasped – he looked at the gourd of water distrustfully now he knew who had given it to him. “Relax, _Dolly_ ,” the other wizard sneered. “I _need_ you. I am here to offer you a deal.”

“Oh really?” the man sneered, “forgive me for not believing the words of a traitor.” 

“Hmm, my story was good enough for the Dark Lord, it _should_ be good enough for you.” 

“Fine, let me _suppose_ I believe you, in what capacity are you here?” 

“I am here as an old friend, offering him succour in return for information on the hex you sent Miss Granger’s way.”

Antonin tipped his head far back pouring the water in his mouth, some dribbled into his scruffy black beard, droplets fell from his jaw. Once he had drunk enough he squeezed the rest of the water over his face – the water mingling into the scars. His well-toned chest had never disappointed any witch he had been with. It took him months to get Alecto Carrow away from him, she believed that she was going to be Mrs Dolohov, even begging him to curse her to prove it. 

Severus watched blinking his eyes as he shuffled his feet on the floor. He had always been ashamed of male nudity. So, seeing Antonin’s muscled arms and pectorals with his long dark hair now dripping with water, was not something he wished to glare at for too long. He was here to find out what would cure Miss Granger and that was it.

“Okay,” Antonin was breathless after quenching his thirst and lightly washing some of the collective scum out of his ropey hair, “so, Miss Granger – that is the name of the witch who silenced me, so I was not able to finish the spell the right way and now she’s in trouble for it?” 

“Yes,” Severus sighed.

“That means she will recover but it will be touch-and-go, for a while. As the caster, I have to be the one to cure her,” Antonin was serious, he reached his arm through the magic repelling bars and grabbed Snape by the front of his robes. “I _mean_ it, Severus, the reason she is not dead is because she is _mine_!” 

“She is a child, Antonin, and one under my care. I will not allow you near her unless you have information we can give.” 

“I knew it!” Antonin hissed, the fire in his eyes spoke of the old Antonin. “I knew you were a traitor!” 

“Yes, I admit it,” Severus said his dark eyes glinting of some strange emotion that could be a mixture between – sadness, regret, and anger. “I betrayed Lily. I am not about to let any more die. Miss Granger’s cure, please?” 

“I never saw what was so special about that Mudblood,” Dolohov said.

“She was my friend,” Severus shrugged his shoulders. “If I can betray my friend – you cannot know if I am trustworthy or not, _can_ you?”

“Oh good one, Severus, so we’re to watch our backs are we?” 

“Depends,” Severus said nonchalantly. 

“It is a family curse, if she had not silenced me when she did, I would have completed it. All witches who marry into my line, have the scar of the Dolohov’s  – I _have_ to get out of here, Severus, she is my future.” 

“Do you still think she is a mud…” 

“No, she is my wife.” 

“Let me explain in another manner,” Severus hissed. “Bellatrix has her by the wand. They want her dead, _you_ are the only one who can speak up for her, would you?” 

“I would kill anyone who dares to hurt my _Mishka_ ,” Antonin growled fiercely. “She is my lost thing. She is what will make me whole and bring life to the Dolohov legacy. She is swift as hawk, as elegant as a wolf in fight, she is strong – physically and mentally – powerful. She is MINE!” 

“How can you know you love her…” 

“I am not going to explain the ins and outs of a family curse, _Snape_ , you just have to let me save her.” 

“How?” 

“There is still time for me to finish the spell but it has to be me, due to the nature of the enchantment.” 

“I cannot get you out of here.” 

With that Antonin smirked as he closed his eyes, spread his arms – his fingertips touched the wall each side – took two deep breaths and then Severus watched as Antonin had turned himself into a dark tabby Siberian with green eyes and strange white A between the ears. Antonin managed to squeeze his way out between the bars and sat on his heavy paws staring up at the human with a tilt of the head. Rolling his eyes Severus bent down with his arms open and the cat leapt into the human’s arms, purring to show either his humour or comfort, stretched out his front legs, yawned and curled up sleeping in Severus embrace. Shaking his head with utter disbelief Snape walked out of Azkaban with the content animagi. 

Once they were out of range of the shore, that took them back to mainland Scotland, Severus, (with cat), elegantly disappeared in a flutter of black cloaks and fog as he left the little Scottish copse of trees standing at the edge of the lake.

“Oh Severus, where have you been?” McGonagall flustered about. Her nose twitched as the instincts that guided the cat part of her scented another feline presence. “What are you hiding?” she narrowed her blue eyes distrustfully. “No,” she mused. “ _Whom_ are you concealing?” 

“I have smuggled in the wizard who cursed Miss Granger – she has not woken up in a month – I did what I had to do to save her.” 

“I will inform Poppy to remove the girl into a private quarter. There is no need to risk scaring someone unnecessarily.” 

“A wise decision, Minerva,” Severus tilted his head slightly down in a motion of respect.

Minerva bustled into the Hospital ward and swiftly sorted things out. Within moments they were in waiting for Dolohov to re-transform back into a human. Once he did he tilted his head oddly at Snape. The man clearly liked cats – best steer clear of him in case he was not paying attention.

Now he had the pleasure to gaze upon Hermione Granger’s comatose body, tucked tightly in the sheets. Carefully, Antonin, peeled them apart one by one – being as gentle as he could. Once he reached her body, which was clad in a white strap-sleeved, two-toned, night gown that settled mid-way to her thighs, her breasts partially wrapped in lilac satin, Antonin felt a little fizz in his heart and belly. What had he done to make the fates kind, for they had to be, to give him this goddess as a bride? Mechanically he uncovered her by hitching the nightgown up over her breasts for the bandages went that far up. Gingerly Antonin then proceeded to remove the bandages. He winced when he saw the extent of the damage he wrought upon such a small body. 

Is this what it truly has come to? Dismembering _children_? This was not what he _really_ enjoyed despite how history painted him, and Antonin knew what a bigot History can be at times. Softly, slowly and tenderly, he drew his finger down the shape of the still open and seeping scar. He was mesmerised by the pattern, the way it broke the body but kept it together at the same time. Unknowingly, he wet his lips as the sight of her magically induced controlled breathing, dried his mouth.

Behind her head lay a mass of dark brown, blonde and sometimes red, bushy wild curls. Freckles decorated her cheeks and nose. He wanted – no, _desired_ to see her colour eyes. With a little clumsy grace he bent over to sniff her and, oh how he loved the scent of her. Tenderly, he reached up and swiped some curls away from her closed but quivering eyelids as if she could sense the unwelcome presence of an enemy. 

“Her first name,” Antonin said softly. 

“Pardon?” Poppy gasped clutching her hand to her heart. 

“For the spell to cure her I need her first name!” Antonin suddenly snapped with irritation. “Now tell me…” 

“Hermione,” Severus said quickly. “Her first name is Hermione.” 

“Thank you, Severus.” 

“Hermione, my little _Pchelka_ I shall be with you unto all eternity,” he murmured softly, as he brushed his lips on one cheek, then did so the other side. “Time, my darling, to cure you once and for all.”

He closed his eyes and started to sing as he placed his hands over a portion of the scar. A mournful tune spoken in mother tongue. A spell used by Russian and some Asian countries. It truly was a humbling spectacle. Poppy was beside herself with joy at the privilege of watching a coveted healer’s secret in front of her. McGonagall was listening but not displaying any other emotion; but Severus knew better. A steady gaze witnessed Minerva as her eyes, glistening of tears softer than he'd ever had seen her, her thin mouth curve into a smile and her hands clasped palm to palm in front of her face as she kept the highest points close to her lips. Eventually, it got too much for the fretful old cat and she left the private room, preferring to remain outside until the procedure was completed.

The more Antonin chanted, the more sweat formed on his brow. His countenance looked troubled, as if something was not ready to go yet and he knew who it was. It was his own uncontrollable, volatile, temper and lack of originality, plus the battle itself all collated into this one miscast cantrip that was not meant to be caught by _her_ in the cross-fire. Now, she was branded as the future Mrs Dolohov – how was he supposed to explain this to his Dark Lord? 

Eventually, a lilac hued light emanated from Antonin’s finger tips, it was then he gently stroked down the scar – Poppy could barely believe her eyes as she watched the flesh knit together where Antonin’s hands travelled down the length of the wound. Once he finished where the scar ended at the hip a golden light erupted from the end, Hermione’s eyes flashed open wide at full dilation, her mouth open and gasped heavily as if she had come up from air from being underwater too long. 

Her eyelids blinked furiously as if unbelieving of the fact she was alive. Snape thought it was also because she was trying to keep the harsh light out of her sensitive vision. Poppy was immediately there with a glass of water with straws so that Hermione could be carefully hydrated once awoken.

Never had two people been so pleased for someone to still be alive as Severus and Poppy. Once the medi-witch had quenched her patients thirst, Hermione laid back into natural sleep. Quietly and carefully they stepped out of Hermione’s room. The odd trio gave each other a mysterious look before Antonin changed back to his cat form. Poppy, along with Severus and Antonin soon left the Healing Ward. They were met by a distressed Minerva as she was frantically pacing to-and-fro, muttering how tragic that it was always the best ones who dies young. She stopped when she caught sight of them through the corner of eyes, the three were met with an expression of such open fear that Poppy rushed forward to wrap an arm around her friend and settle her in the nearest seat. 

“Well?” Minerva asked, a tremor in her tone that was unheard of in the stoic Scot's voice normally. 

“Success,” Poppy said with a warm smile. “She is breathing well; her heart is beating at a normal rate and she has hydrated.” 

“Wonderful news,” Dumbledore said as he strode into the waiting room. 

“Headmaster it…” 

“No need to explain, Severus,” Dumbledore said putting his hand up. “I would like to see you and Mr Dolohov in human form in my office.” 

The cat leapt out of Severus arms and became human once again. He had never felt as uncomfortable as he did when Minerva scowled at him, flashbacks of being a pupil appeared in his mind. Dolohov fidgeted in his muddied robes. He hated that his hair grew fast. His dark eyes frowned beneath thick eyebrows as they darted frantically between McGonagall and Pomphrey – there was no comfort found in either quarter. Even Severus treated him harshly. He felt Snape’s bony fingers dig deep into his biceps as Dolohov was marched along and down the corridors towards the headmaster’s office.

“What is likely to happen?” Dolohov whispered when they were outside Dumbledore’s office.

“Oh nothing much – it’s all lemon drops and tea and cakes.”

“Really?”

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed at the naivety of his fellow Death Eater, as he glared at the door as if trying to set it on fire with the force of inner-temper. If anything was annoying Severus the most was that it seems he may not be the only DE on the Hogwarts payroll in the near future. It was bad enough having to compete against Lupin but, he sighed as he stood bouncing on the balls of his feet next to an equally fidgeting ex-Ravenclaw, Severus was going to have to go against Dolohov. It was frustrating to Severus that Dolohov was not a good potioneer, which means that with Albus’ track record, the DADA job was not going to be his for another year.

“No, Dolohov, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord are two sides of the same coin. Just…be careful!” 

“So, Severus, whose _side_ are you on?”

The only answer the Russian got to this query was an arched eyebrow, lips set straight and thin, and eyes hard as stone and just as expressionless. Dumbledore opened the door and waved them inside. 

“Well, Mr Dolohov, a surprise indeed but not entirely unexpected,” Antonin stood up face forward, feet planted firmly hip width apart and his hands in front of him. “So, how shall we proceed?”

Gritting his teeth Severus snarled: “Is it any use us bringing suggestions to the table when you have already got one in your overtly brilliant mind and only that will do?”

“Do I Severus?” Dumbledore asked tilting his head on one side. “Then, please, explain to Mr Dolohov what it is you _think_ I am going to do with this muddled state of affairs?”

Severus mentally slapped his forehead in his hand. His stoic façade would fool anyone.

 _Well_ , he sighed, _almost anyone_.

“Is there a _point_ to me explaining as it is _your_ plan, _your_ big picture, that we are _all_ just pieces on Fates Chessboard.” 

“I thought the Fates held scissors and thread?” Dolohov said with a slight smirk, much to Antonin’s surprise, Dumbledore chuckled with him. “Not great chess players…”

“Shut up,” Snape said.

“Now, now, Severus,” Albus said, “it was _your_ brilliant idea to go rogue and bring him into the school and heal Miss Granger,” the headmaster said. “Did you manage to, Mr Dolohov?”

The Russian inclined his head – his eyes sparkling with some unknown emotion. Something between amusement, slight fear, and worry for what his future could hold. Cagily, he watched the old Saint Nick figure in the chair in front of him and allowed a mirthless smirk to slip into his features before adopting the blank mask of all Death Eaters in trouble.

“So,” Severus sighed. “What _are_ your ideas, Headmaster?”

“Hmm,” Dumbledore sat back and began slowly petting his long beard. “I do not know, Mr Dolohov, what are your plans for the near future?”

Dolohov blinked in surprise almost breaking his non-emotional pose, he recovered however and said in formal tones: “I am not quite sure what they are, Headmaster.”

Severus wished he had warned him – spent a little time whilst waiting to inform Dolohov not to fall for the twinkle. Not to be fooled by the grandfatherly manner in which Albus Dumbledore held himself and had honed to perfection. However, he did not, and now Antonin was met with periwinkle eyes twinkling as playfully as stars in the night sky. 

“Honestly?” he asked leaning forward. “Do you want to hear how I see your future, Antonin?” 

The wizard turned to Severus entreating his fellow Death Eater for support, but all Severus did was stare at a spot on the wall a little left of Dumbledore’s shoulder, as far as Severus was concerned, Antonin was on his own. 

“Er,” Dolohov stuttered a little, “um, sure?” his uncertain tone disappointed Severus Snape. 

“Am I needed for this meeting, Albus?” 

“Yes, you are,” Albus said. “Now, why don’t you two sit?”

**Author's Note:**

> There is more - smut - AU and probably OOC but this is a story about redemption and love. I hope I am portraying Dolohov well so far.


End file.
